


True LoveCrime

by 1under_spectra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Coda, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1under_spectra/pseuds/1under_spectra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>coda for Wrath of The Lamb/ how they survive the fall/ how they survive</p>
            </blockquote>





	True LoveCrime

Muffled brain on the water. On the boat. Under the sky. Slicing pain shook Will’s body and he wasn’t fully awake, but his eyes opened to nothing but light blurs. And the doctors voice. His reacted to the sound, pressed a cheek into the hand touching his face. He fell back under, didn’t see the affection in Hannibal, watching him curl in for warmth. He didn’t see a heave of butterflies in the chest of the former, years long gone, Chesapeake Riper.

* * *

 

The second waking brought him to a warm room and a slightly empty stomach, though he noted the sensation didn’t bother him. He felt bandaged; a constricting one running the length of his head where Francis had stabbed first. The rest in the appropriate matching points for his wounds. He was vaguely happy not to hear the sounds of waves and the fresh nauseating air of the woeful boat that saved his life.

Paper rustled above him, and then, “Awake now.”

A happy statement. He could see Hannibal smiling with the words even from behind his eyelids. Will lifted a hand high to search out the body it matched, landing along his thigh.

“How could it be,” he started softly, “that we’ve managed to get this far. I wanted us to die.”

“Fate does not agree with you, Will. Your decisions may have flaws, no matter how elaborate they may be.”

“Cruel fate,” he responds, the hand firm on the thigh now, to make sure it’s real.

“Fate. In the form of Chiyo,” Hannibal tells him, patting the hand and slipping out of it’s grip.

He stands above him, he can feel it, the weight feels safe. “You needed us to die on the rocks. We have.”

He tucks the absent hand back under the blanket, properly at Will’s side. “The Red Dragon didn’t have the chance to change me, you did. We’ve been born out of the waters. Do you feel it, Will?”

The words twisted reality out of him, clarity. Rebirth. Will did everything he could to open his eyes and really look at Hannibal. There were matching bandages when he looked passed the blackened Wendigo. He saw his face and saw an anchor, and understood.

“We’re new.” But his eyes furrowed like it was a question. And Hannibal smiled warmly.

“Yes. Dear Will.”

* * *

 

The months were new too. The seasons felt fresh.

He wasn’t sure why, but Hannibal killed discreetly and out of sight. He would cook, and Will would eat. He didn’t think about anything before the fall. Why? Because there was no apology he could materialize that would cover it. There was no word for Molly that would make up for the action. There was no face he knew that could look at him now, the way that Hannibal looked at him.

They touched sometimes, bumping shoulders, pulling at hands when it was time to leave. A hand through the hair. Their strange connection, as it always had, came out of quiet smiles.

The pulls of understanding.

They were in the North with the snow when Hannibal broke their spell. He chose a man, sliced his throat, and began to wrap him up with Will standing and watching, puffs of air hitting the temperature, rosy cheeks.

Will began to walk, and didn’t know where he was going, but the spell broke. He was free.

Snow seemed to suck out sound, until swift legs gained on him from behind.

“William, don’t tell me you haven’t faced this part of your reality yet.” A hand closed around his arm and he whirled with it to shake it off.

“Our reality.” Hannibal amended, surrounded in white.

“That man did _nothing_ to us, Hannibal. You kill as a sport-”

“No, you learned this from me, Will,” a step closer.

“I chose to live with my eyes half open to you.”

It stung Hannibal into halting his tracks. Furrowing his brow, and Will knew it was a lie. And yet, precisely the truth. “I’ve committed murder,” he starts slowly. “The men I killed, were evil. I had no power in those decisions, but I made them anyway. I learned from you, to take lives that aren’t mine.”

Another puff of air escapes between them, and Will turns again, separating them with each step. The knowledge that he’d blinded himself firing off in front of him. Hannibal continuing to murder and maim, though ever more discreetly now that he preferred to stay in hiding. This chapter in Hannibal’s life contained no fame. No sensational tales hitting the tabloids. This chapter he was a ghost with Will Graham.

“Will,” Hannibal called again, moving his feet forward. Will, who wasn’t afraid of anything, who danced in front of death each and every time Hannibal witnessed him face it. His cunning and calculating Will. He caught his hand this time, gloved, but firm.

They faced each other, Will’s face suddenly hard and stone, looking at Hannibal and then passed him. “I don’t like what you did.” He nodded to the direction of the cold body, lost in the snow by now.

Hannibal stayed quiet, studying. But Will had learned through the years, exactly what hurt looked like on Hannibal. His free hand took hold of the button line of Hannibal’s jacket, running a finger down the inside and then worried the material at the bottom with his fingers.“I pick…who you kill.”

It was like testing waters. Or a question, each word that dropped from his mouth. But when Will looked up under dark eyelashes, he suddenly meant it. He felt it, Hannibal under the winter jacket, saying yes to maybe anything Will could come up with.

Quiet set in again, so Will began, “I was never a lamb, Hannibal.”

“You were once,” he broke in.

Will looked back at the material between his fingers and moved their hands up to lace their fingers together. “Well, I haven’t been for a long time. Will you, stay with me?” Puckering his parted lips, doing the things he knew Hannibal wanted.

“Yes.”

“If I choose them. Give me _this_ , Hannibal.”

A small jerk of the chin in resolution. “Who am I to deny you anything.”

A warm glove enveloped the side of Will’s cold cheek and he leaned into it with fervor.

* * *

 

“I’ll be right back’s” turned into brushes across the stomach when passing. Hands on shoulders slowly became feather light kisses to the back of the neck, and they would laugh sometimes.

They were in Brazil, bloody from a child murderer they tailed from America and took care of not blocks from their own apartment.

Thirsty, gritty laughter turned into panting. Hannibal flipped a dim light on before Will devoured his mouth- something new- tonguing and licking and pushing at him, hungry. He planted both hands along Will’s face, savoring and breathing it in. Everything that came after was heat and teeth and moans. He wrestled Will onto the bed, catching his mouth and tasting, running hands up the hot flesh under his shirt while his companion arched.

He was so lost that his back hit the bed and Will, his Will, loomed over him, stretching the shirt over his head and off of him, ripping the buttons open on his own and fastening his mouth to a sweet spot on his neck. Hannibal made a strangled sound, seeped in pleasure.

Will was rough but slow, hot and dark. The light seemed to get dimer the longer it was on, and Hannibal felt everything. The wetness being pushed into him, preparing him, one leg spread and held in a way he wouldn't allow another person to attempt. Will playing lazily with his mouth while sinking inside until they fit, something hot and thick and throbbing in him, causing every nerve to crystallize and fray when it started it’s rhythm.

And that’s the way it always was after that. They always made the air change, the shaky breaths they shared, pressing foreheads together, mixing sweat, or blood. Exploding, digging it in, getting as far inside the other as they could, like it wouldn’t count if they didn’t.

This new beacon in Will, sharing his life and the hunt, watching what it invoked in him, it replaced the fame of his former days.

The whispers on the news were replaced by Will’s shining face; the way he changed.

For Will, he did everything. He would kill anything and be anybody, for him.


End file.
